11th in 3:08
Sports will break your heart if you let them. That’s why I refuse to brood over an honest 11th place finish in a race that didn’t quite go my way today.
I’d hoped for a top 5 finish and a time about 5 minutes faster. No such luck. It was a tougher day by far for the Goat and for the sweet Boy Wonder, who called me all choked up after his bicycle stage race because his stomach had gone bad and he’d hurled Gu going over the climb. Like me, he’d been favored to do well.
Early on, I felt like someone had monkeyed with my winch as I tried to ascend the front side of the race up the evil Black Mountain. While little foxes are cunning enough to let people pass so they can toy with them later, I was just getting left behind. Here’s where you get to laugh: I honestly think I shrunk my running spandex in the drier yesterday because the elastic leg bands seemed really tight and I think they were limiting some circulation. (See, I told you house cleaning would be the death of me. And no, they didn’t look horrendously tight ; ) I’d chosen them in lieue of running shorts because they ward off chafe between the legs. I found myself tugging on them to loosen them up, to no avail. One could also come up with a million alternate or supplementary theories as to why my legs didn’t winch to potential today, but there’s no use in that.
I didn’t get to run with the Goat uphill at all as I was going so slowly, but I was mature enough to do no mental flogging and instead just settled into the pace I could muster, hoping for redemption on the downhill. I caught up to the Goat going across the jutting limestone crags at the top and I could tell just by the way his feet were moving that it was not going well for him. I knew that he’d been coughing all week.
“How’s it going, Goat Boy?” I asked in as sympathetic of a tone as I could.
I got the reply I expected and filled him in on my own troubles. We crossed the crags together, but I knew I’d have to leave him on the descent to salvage any chance of placing well. I was informed by the crew at the top that I was 14th in the women’s race-- humbling but not disastrous. I knew my downhilling skills could very likely make up four places to put me in the top ten. I’ve never been passed going downhill, by a male or a female, in any running race that I can remember, and I especially liked the downhill coming up. I do remember days when I’ve made up 14 places while careening at high speed over dirt and rocks.
I started to do my stuff, but a line-up of runners in front of me were pluggin’ my straw, and there was no room to pass on this ridiculous singletrack. These straw pluggers were all guys, well off the back of the true men’s competition, so I decided to see if chivalry was still alive...
“Anyone want to let me pass so I can make up some spots in the women’s race?”
The seas parted.
The little fox had some moments of glory here. Within minutes, I’d passed three ladies. I hurtled a few felled trees, executed some flawless switchback corners, and jumped spritely over some eroded burms. Unfortunately, that brought me to the next plug in the straw: a group of goons falling left and right on the stumps and rocks. This is the main problem with running too slow up the front side: You get stuck behind slower runners on the downhill. Sigh. I hate to be rude.
“I’m ready to pass if you’ll let me.”
It didn’t work this time.
There were too many of them, talking too loudly to coordinate, amidst five foot-high, shoulder-scraping brush . I was forced to run behind them the rest of the way to the road. There was a girl in their group though, and when she fell off the side of the trail, I was able to scoot by (after asking if she was alright, of course).
We hit the flat road for the last 7.5 miles and, unlike two years ago, I ran solidly until the end (perhaps because I'd been stuck in 3rd gear on the front side). Somehow, even the seventeen miles didn’t wear me down today. Unfortunately, I did get passed by a lady wearing a very lurid European sports outfit that showed off a nasty Skeletor looking back, who stole my 10th place finish with only 200 feet to the line. Oh well. The women's field was stacked today.
I shoveled down bananas and sat on the grass with the pulverized Goat after the race, who told me I could have and should have been faster. I nodded. This is the allure of sport. Victory, so elusive, can make your heart swell several sizes.
***
Oh yeah, if you want to see some pictures of the lovely crags, you can find them here: http://www.wahsatchsteeplechase.com/pictures.html
(None of the pics are of me.)